


Wonder, Hope, a Dream of Possibilities

by ishtarelisheba



Series: Better to Face the Bullets 'verse [21]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: Belle has a pleasant surprise for Rummond. (A Better to Face the Bullets 'verse one-shot.)





	Wonder, Hope, a Dream of Possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> (Prompts: _thedoctorsblogger said: Ok this is probably a while away but I'd love to see BTFTB Belle get preggers and like rum freaks out  
>  thedoctorsblogger prompted: Could we see little Neal like talking to Belle's baby bump and telling it stories and stuff?)_

Belle peered around the open library door, simply watching her husband for a moment. She had left him on the settee near the window with a perfectly good copy of _Nêne_ before excusing herself to the washroom. Now he stood by the bookcases on the opposite side of the room, cane hooked onto the edge of a shelf, head bowed over a volume of Millay poetry. 

Afternoon sun reached where he stood, falling across him, glinting silver and gold in the hair fallen forward to hide his face. He held the book open and a bit too close on one hand, his forefinger trailing slowly down the page. She hadn’t yet remarked upon the likelihood of him needing eyeglasses. Rummond would decide it for himself sooner or later.

She scuffed her shoe against the rug to let him know that she was there. “I thought I’d make tea,” she said when he looked up. “Would you join me?”

“Tea would hit the spot. I’ll be right there.” He closed his hand and the book with a soft clap of paper.

The early March day was crisp but fair, and Mrs. Potts had stepped out to walk Neal home from school. Only the kitchen maid and chamber maid were about, chatting between themselves. Belle was relieved to find they didn’t seem to be in the middle of anything dire. 

“Oh, I can do that for you, ma’am,” Millie, the kitchen maid, said when Belle took the kettle to fill it.

“Thank you, but I would rather this time.” She set the kettle on the stove and turned back to them. “Would you mind stepping out for a few minutes?”

Both young women gave her a brief curtsy before making themselves scarce without question. They’d only finished hiring the staff they needed by perhaps three months, and she was unaccustomed to being kowtowed to so. She’d grown up with the staff in her father’s house. They’d felt more like family than employees. It would take time, she supposed, but she hoped that the same feeling would develop for and among their own.

Belle took a tin of digestives down from the cupboard and stood nibbling at one while she waited. Her stomach was still a bit unsettled. 

She hadn’t told Rummond yet. She was only just certain of it, herself. It wasn’t that she was nervous about telling him, only anxious to _get_ to tell, to see his response. They had been letting things fall as they may since their honeymoon, and though she was well aware - and had assured Rummond, as well - that it often took months, she couldn’t help her disappointment with each that passed leaving her without a particular sort of happy news.

Her husband walked into the kitchen as she was pouring. He stepped close at her back, looping an arm around her waist, and brushed a kiss against her nape that sent a tingle through her. 

“Now, you start that and the tea will go cold before it’s drunk,” she scolded with a grin evident in her voice.

He pressed another kiss to the side of her neck. “I could always make more.”

“We’re in the kitchen.”

 _“Our_ kitchen.”

Laughing, she swatted at his hip behind her. “Take your tea, silly.”

With one last kiss to her shoulder, Rummond accepted his cup and saucer, taking it over to the end of the counter near where Mrs. Potts had potatoes set out to prepare for dinner. He pulled a stool over to sit and caught the handle of his cane on the counter’s edge. Belle brought along the tin of digestives with her tea, placing herself across the corner from him. 

She stepped on the stool rung, lifting herself onto the seat. “We should make plans to go into London one Saturday soon.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve had an outing. A day in the city would be nice,” he agreed.

“Neal is growing out of some of his waistcoats,” she pointed out. “He could use a few new ones. I’ve noticed he’s running low on drawing pads.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to drop by the bookstore, either, hm?” Rummond teased, reaching for a digestive.

“It never hurts. We do still have empty shelves in need of filling.” She watched him, gauging his expression as she said, “And we should begin putting together a nursery.”

He froze with his cup halfway to his mouth, dark eyes flicking back up to stare at her. “Belle…”

She nodded.

“You’re…?” He nodded in return. A smile slowly bloomed across his face. “Are you certain?”

Belle beamed at her husband. “Quite certain. I’m perhaps two months gone? But yes, I’m sure.”

His breath escaped him in a happy huff of air. He looked as though he were trying to decide whether he might laugh or cry.

“Oh!” She reached a hand out too late to warn him. His cup, still paused in shocked mid-air, had tilted in his distraction, and tea splashed onto the countertop before he could right it. Paying little mind, he set the cup down and stood, pulling her to her feet and catching her in the circle of his arms. Hugging her close, he gave her a turn around.

Belle squealed, joy overflowing. She threw her arms about his neck and held onto him, holding more tightly still when he kissed her. 

“We’re having a baby!” he gasped in disbelief.

“A baby?”

“You’re pregnant?”

Neal and Mrs. Potts asked at just the same time, both smiling in rapt excitement from the open kitchen garden door. 

Rummond kept Belle held close, but he set her on her feet. They looked from their unexpected interruption to one another, exchanging expressions of amusement. There would be no keeping it a surprise for later, then.

“A _baby?”_ Neal squeaked this time, his smile very nearly as big as his father’s. He dropped his bookbag to the floor and ran to them, squeezed himself right between his parents, and wrapped his arms around Belle. 

Distinctly teary-eyed, Mrs. Potts set her hat on the counter and bustled over with less speed. She gestured for Belle with open arms, waiting for first Rummond and then Neal to mostly let go before obtaining a sound hug for herself. 

“Oh, my. I knew it was coming,” Mrs. Potts said, kissing Belle’s cheek before she turned to grab Rummond into a hug of his own. She patted his back hard enough to hear the percussion of it and kissed his cheek, as well, before standing away to sniffle through tears of proud delight. “Oh, my stars. Another wee one is precisely what we need.”

The cook blotted her face with a handkerchief pulled from her coat sleeve. Shaking her head, she made a beeline for the door, taking her hat on the way and putting it back on. 

“What’s the matter? You only just got home,” Belle said in confusion at Mrs. Potts’ hurry. 

“I mean to have Mr. Morgan drive me to the butcher’s. I can’t serve stew tonight. Not the celebratory meal we should be having,” she told them firmly, fussing at no one in particular on her way out the door. “Mr. Morgan will have to get a mighty wiggle on if I’m to get a roast done by dinnertime.”

“Everyone between here and town will know as she passes,” Rummond remarked, holding back laughter. “You may as well invite your father for dinner, or you won’t get the telling of it there, either.”

She rested a hand on Neal’s hair. He remained held onto the side of her skirts. She cupped his face between her palms and he tipped his head back to see her. “What do you think, darling?”

“I want a sister,” he told her with a broad, wrinkle-nosed grin.

“Do you, now?” Leaning down, she dropped a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll see what this one wants to be.”

He moved one small hand to gently pat her stomach. “Hi,” he said, speaking very close to her blouse. “Mama and Papa have been talking about you for a _long_ time. I have lots of things to tell you.”

Belle placed a hand over her son’s and looked to her husband, who was busy regarding her as though she were the one who set the sun alight.

**Author's Note:**

> (Takes place in early March 1921.)


End file.
